Incubus
by S.C. Mongoose
Summary: Redrimmed eyes are often a telltalesign of inner turmoil. Red irises are often a symbol of evil. One shinobi must deal with both as they continue to haunt his sleep. A Kakashi darkfic.


Rating: PG-13 for graphic violence in future chapters. May or may not change rating.

Disclaimer/sigh/ No, I do not own Naruto. And no matter how much I beg, I cannot own Kakashi.

A/N: I'd like to apologize for the horrendously cheesy summary. I kind of failed that portion of my English class, so...

Now, on with the fic!

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in·cu·bus**: noun- a demon of mythology thought to have descended upon those in their sleep. Literally, a nightmare.

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It was night in the Village of the Hidden Leaf. The sky was an inky black, dotted with the numerous lights of stars. Without the lamps in the street, the darkness would have been overwhelming, and still threatened to fully encroach upon all sources of light.

Meanwhile, another kind of darkness stirred in one of the complex huts below.

_A man awoke from his slumber in the night, his rest disturbed by an alien sound somewhere within the walls of his home. He slowly stood up from his futon, his normally half-closed eyes wide-open. A sense of dread hung heavily in his heart, though he knew not why. He moved fluidly through the door of his bedroom, into the area from where the sounds seemed to emanate. It was a dull, rhythmic, thudding sound, not unlike the ticking of a cotton-muted clock. These sounds were familiar, and seemed to come two per beat. So familiar…_

_He flew down the hall, not locating the sounds' source, but seemingly nearing it. He finally came to the open bathroom door. The light was on, and a pool of liquid, probably water, spilled from the doorway into the hall. This, he was certain, was the source of the odd noise. _

_He peered in through the door, and found that the room was vacant. The thudding had stopped. He looked to the sink, and saw that the faucet was still running. The sink was now overflowing with a thick, darkish substance. He turned off the faucet, but left the mess as it was for someone else to clean up. He looked up and met his own reflection in the mirror above the sink._

_Strange, though, as it looked as though his reflection's eyes were closed. He raised a hand to his own eyes contemplatively. At that instant, his reflection's eyes snapped open, revealing one pale-gray right eye, the color of death, and one blood red left eye. That eye was so terrifyingly sinister; he had to rid himself of it. In his panic he plunged his fingers into his own face, and—_

Hatake Kakashi woke with a yell of terror, covered in a cold sweat. He found himself gasping for breath, holding one hand over the right side of his face, where lay his odd Sharingan eye.

Kakashi was hesitant to go out to the bathroom and douse his face with cold water, but after convincing himself that it had been only a dream, he left his bed for the sink in the bathroom. He first made sure that there was no one in the room, as well as nothing in the sink, before working up the courage to enter. He splashed his face with the cool, welcoming water, and looked up from the sink into the mirror. His reflection was unremarkable, unless one counted the jounin's crimson right eye and the long, jagged scar running vertically across it. This face, though half of it was unknown to those around him, was perfectly familiar to Kakashi, who saw it nearly every day. But he had never had any qualms about the ownership of the single Sharingan eye, not until recently.

He forced himself to remember the dream as he stared hard into his own eyes in the mirror. He had been having the same one frequently, nearly every night for the past few months. Nearly every night he found himself terrified by this familiar face, and nearly every night he woke with a start, shivering, sweating, struggling for air. He had begun to suspect that he would stop breathing during his sleep whenever he had that dream. He couldn't be certain as to why this was happening to him, except that it was connected to what took place months ago, when Uchiha Itachi had placed the psychological attack on him.

Ever since then, Kakashi had been bothered by the Sharingan, the very thing that had forced him to endure what seemed to be seventy-two hours of stabbing by an ever-increasing number of Itachis. There was something there, something that he couldn't quite grasp, that tormented him with the unknown cause of his suffering.

Why had Tsukiyomi affected him like this? He was supposed to be an Elite Ninja, a famed and talented one. He was known throughout the lands as Kakashi, the great Copy Ninja, as a formidable opponent. Yet somehow, here he was, still fighting an enemy long departed. (And losing the battle, it seemed.) He was supposed to be a genius, a force to be reckoned with. And yet he had been beaten so easily…

Granted, Uchiha Itachi was known to be one of the more powerful of the S-ranked criminals. Nevertheless, Kakashi still couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't have lost, that he should have been able to prevent Itachi from attacking, let alone escaping. And these dreams… Why were they lingering so? Had he really been so damaged by such an experience?

Kakashi withdrew from his staring contest with the mirror, and reluctantly returned to his futon bed. As he lay down to return to sleep, he prayed silently for merciful dreams of beautiful women, on a tropical island, far away…

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A/N: So? How was it? Was it good? Did it suck? I want help, but everything will be welcomed with open arms. If it sucks, tell me. If I've misspelled something, tell me. If you have advice, give it, and it will be received with open arms. Otherwise, I will feed you to Tsuruki Chinko for sending me irksomely unhelpful reviews. 

I'm planning on adding more chapters in the future, hopefully soon. Thank you to those who reviewed.


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